AT NEWPORT.
95
AT NEWPORT.
THEY say you're the belle of the season;
That you've reaped quite a harvest of hearts;
That the fellows have all lost their reason,
Each pierced by your eyes' magic darts.
That you've reaped quite a harvest of hearts;
That the fellows have all lost their reason,
Each pierced by your eyes' magic darts.
Now of course you are truly enjoying
These triumphs while you are away,
And you find "lots of fun" in annoying
Those hearts that are under your sway.
These triumphs while you are away,
And you find "lots of fun" in annoying
Those hearts that are under your sway.
Such hearts as love perfect seclusion
In some sheltered nook on the beach,
Where they can, without fear of intrusion,
Indulge in their "nothings" of speech.
In some sheltered nook on the beach,
Where they can, without fear of intrusion,
Indulge in their "nothings" of speech.
